<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>dancing on to your heartbeat by noceurtiniti</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506669">dancing on to your heartbeat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/noceurtiniti/pseuds/noceurtiniti'>noceurtiniti</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions of Blood, Royalty, Soulmates, dance, soulmate identifying marks, vague description of fatal injury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:39:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506669</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/noceurtiniti/pseuds/noceurtiniti</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale trapped in the confines of a guarded mind,<br/>carefully protected between the folds of time,<br/>meant for none but you, me, and the one who was left behind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Taeyong/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>NCTV Secret Santa 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>dancing on to your heartbeat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyanom/gifts">amyanom</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For "cherry"</p><p>inspired by the lyrics "now your song is on repeat, and im dancing on to your heartbeat" and "every melody is timeless" from symphony by clean bandit and zara larsson.</p><p>merry christmas and a happy new year everyone 💕</p><p>edit : 8/3/2021 refined.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> The sun is high in the sky. The curtains around the empty ballroom are drawn, letting liquid gold trickle in past ornate metalwork, bathing the marble floor in intricate patterns of varying vividity. </p><p> A lone figure glides across the floors, shedding dark ochre shadows along the grand pillars and walls holding the bare simplistic structure of the west wing ballroom upright. Some windows are wide open, some are not; the dancer’s hair sways gently in the whispering wind. </p><p> There is no music in the air save for the sounds of nature. The room has not felt the thrum of melody in years.</p><p> There is no music in the air, and yet there seems to be a song that pulls the dancer across the expanse of the floor; a timeless melody, louder and clearer than any other witnessed by the livened walls of this abandoned enclosure. He is lost in trance, evidently so; a soft synergy binding his dancing form, the shadows that follow his figure and the atmosphere that curls to fit around the dips and crevices created by his movements into a picture of breathtaking harmony.</p><p> </p><p> The scent of moist grass travels in through an open window, brushing past the walls, past the faded work of an artist's withered hands, decorating the ceiling, carrying whispers of stories better left untold.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Grass crumpling under two pairs of feet, leaving indents in the rich emerald bed covering miles upon miles of land. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Patches the size of their feet, mapping their paths across the verdant dewy land. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Emerald grass, now drenched in scarlet, dripping wine red.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> A memory buried deep beneath miles of cloaking unearths, like a single flame licking up the heavily drawn draperies sealing the dark chambers of his mind away from the rest of the world.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Do you know what that says, the mark on your wrist?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Glittering eyes, a cryptic smile. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> A strong gust of wind hits the dancer’s graceful form, brushing the silken fabric of his tunic away from his clavicles as the unheard tune lures him into elaborate sets of movements; movements that his bare bruised ankles follow with an ease and comfort that speaks of countless other times.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Lush green grass tickling the gaps between bare toes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> An image of a man losing himself to the song of nature, surrounded by grass and trees and flowers and birds, all of which pales in comparison to his form. Outstretched fingers, elegant arches, ethereal emotions.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Beautiful. So beautiful. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Call me ten." </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> The music flows through his movements, along the stream, past the eddies and rock formations. Under the shade of bent branches and trees, slithering forward through the gaps between leaves of plants deep under the surface, tickling past the most delicate of life forms. Delicate. Fragile. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Liquid seeping past the gaps between his fingers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cold. And then not.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Water. And then not. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> The man's serene expression cracks in a minuscule ripple of facial muscle; ripples in a sheet of water. A diminutive jerk incorporates itself seamlessly into the flow of the dancer’s movements, not unlike the ripples formed by an autumn leaf or a skidding rock on still waters.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A hand pulling him through the narrow gaps between tall towering trees. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hysterical giggles, feet splattering through moist mud and grass-covered forest land. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Back in the clearing where they first met. The same grass tickling between their toes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A hand guiding him, teaching him, to move in ways he had never moved before.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Call me ten." </em>
</p><p> </p><p> The flame spreads, burning away inch after inch of the shroud sewn together by blood-stained hands. A shroud made to cover, to protect, to preserve — the memories, his heart, himself — driven by nothing but pure grief, grappling for any semblance of composure.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Giggles brighter than the sunlight, ripping through cool moist air under the shadow of a flourishing tree. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "One day. I'll tell you what i mean, one day." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A smile tinted with mischievousness, softening on the edges. A smile that hides a lot more than it lets on. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Questions echo in his mind, and in his mind they remain. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> Each newly resurrected flame burns brighter than the last, letting more flames escape from their confinement, out of the protective wards set about them. He reaches out, attempts to hold onto shreds of the burning fabric that once kept him together, now falling apart in his hands, tears swirling into ashes, far from salvageable.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> “Call me ten.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Eyes meeting across the campsite. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Soft sunlight reflecting in eyes of molten umber. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> An emotion. Or perhaps many. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Call me ten.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> White cloth being wrapped around a bleeding gash on his hand. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Murmured scolding and careful movements. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Holding back a smile. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Call me ten.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Eyes fluttering drowsily and then finally falling shut. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Trusting. Endlessly trusting. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A soft mellowed smile on a sleeping face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Eyes clenching and embracing the warmth just a bit tighter. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> His movements echo throughout the room. Loud, and then louder, desperate to drown out the echoes in the confines of his own mind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Call me ten.” warm hands. “Call me ten.” crinkling eyes. “Call me ten.”  heartachingly beautiful smile. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> Growing unrest makes itself known in a phantasmagoria of luminescent shadows on the dancer’s features. The tune ringing in his movements grows erratic, power seeping into every flick, every swirl, every maneuver of his limbs. Passion, desperation, resentment and finally gut wrenching helplessness.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Ten..." A shake of his head. “Not ten.” blood, blood, blood.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> More blood. And then even more.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So much blood.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> The facade of calm falls away entirely; the glide remains endlessly beautiful. Droplets of blood bead up at the corners of the dancer's toenails, liquid rubies sliding down and staining the spotless perfection of the marbled floor in glittering streaks of crimson.</p><p> The melody builds up, slow and steady, and then fast and erratic.</p><p> And then it cascades down the falls, crashing into a crescendo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sunlight glittering through the gaps between the branches of trees. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> An arm pushing the fluttering leaves of the branches aside.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A waterfall, massive and enchanting and surrounded by life.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Spraying waters, songbirds lining branches of trees, slippery rocks under their feet. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Misty air, elated smiles, toes splashing through the water gathered at the base of the waterfall.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A sky almost as blue as the water gathered at the base of the waterfall. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Peaceful, and then not. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> The mark on his wrist throbs, almost in tandem with his movements; vigorous, but with a flow to it, like raging waters, catastrophically beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Vibrant flowers in wild growth. A bright red one plucked, placed delicately behind an ear.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A smile, warmth filling his chest, a peaceful moment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And then in a second, an expression of startle, a sudden movement.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> An arrow ripping through the silence, ripping through the peace of the atmosphere, ripping through warm flesh. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> His eyes clench painfully, shakiness showing through the flow of movements with the burn that travels from the dancer’s wrist to the spread of his arms. The poised outstretch of his fingers grows stiff and then jerk as if to reach out, to hold on to something. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A body moving in front of him, and then falling back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Warmth cradled in his arms, in his heart, everywhere. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Too much warmth, in eyes, seeping into clothes, gushing over hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Warmth growing uncomfortable in his chest, acid vapours burning away at his lungs. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Ten… no what—" frantically looking around, stunned, confused, disbelieving.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A blood soaked hand cupping his cheek. Warm. Endlessly warm. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Not ten,”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A voice so low, almost lost in the chaos of his mind. Almost. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fingers brushing over the pulse of his wrist, tracing black strokes without even having to look at it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A teardrop rolling down his cheek and splattering onto ten’s.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Not ten…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p> His movements slow down to a sway, a steady trickle of honey over the glaze settled on the floor beneath his feet. He turns, facing away from the grand windows, head bowed, arms a small distance away from his torso.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> clinkering sounds of turquoise waters. a hand clutched in his. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The words, the whoosh of the arrow, the flutter of the birds' wings as they fled; noises echoing in his ears.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Spherules of scarlet blood drip down into the waters below. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A beautiful turquoise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A beautiful turquoise, then a crimson for a moment. And then not even that.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The beauty is gone with the swirls of scarlet fading into the abundance of water. The gleam of purity that the water once held fades, now forever tainted in the eyes of the one who could never forget.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> He turns back, torso leaning towards the light, legs winding around each other in a subtle twist. An arm reaches outward. Towards the faint glow of light visible through closed eyelids, towards the sky, towards what used to be.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "Call me Chittaphon." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> An echo of a whispered voice.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fingers stilling over his wrist. Cold.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A hauntingly relaxed smile. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> The mark on his wrist burns, but the mist swirling heavily in his chest burns brighter.</p><p> </p><p> A sharp knock cuts through the deafening silence. "Apologies for the disturbance," a voice calls, still outside the threshold of the room echoing with whispers of too many silent stories. </p><p> </p><p> The figure stills. The flames fizzle out.</p><p> </p><p> "The council requires your immediate presence, Your Highness." the servant continues, voice low and shaky, head bowed, eyes on the floor. this wasn't the first time the dancer had been interrupted by his duties, but each time it happened, the messenger seemed to carry an air of deep remorse. It seemed as though — unknowing as they might be — they too, could sense the stories hidden behind these jaded walls. </p><p> </p><p> The dancer recedes back into the shadows, and Crown Prince Lee Taeyong resurfaces. (choking, gasping, unwilling.)</p><p> </p><p> “Prepare a fresh set of robes in my quarters, I shall be right there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Your Highness.” the servant bows, and leaves the sounds of his receding footsteps to echo in the corridors outside the door.</p><p> </p><p> His eyes flutter back open in what seems like hours. The sky is painted in hues of orange, pink and blue, the last rays of sunlight fall on his face, a feather light warmth lingering in its wake. Pockets of light adsorbing onto the iris of his eyes, seeping into crevices and making them glow a warm shade of burnt sienna.</p><p>The haunting smile lingers in the back of his mind.</p><p> </p><p> "you knew..." he whispers into the silence, voice hoarse and not for the first time. The words feel familiar on his tongue, and so does the burn in his heart. The underlying scents in the air have grown stale, cloyingly sweet in taeyong’s lungs, burning them from the inside out. </p><p> </p><p> A lone tear drops onto the blemished, blood stained marble; and Taeyong finds himself reminiscing to another time, when the tear rolled down his cheeks and landed on skin smooth like marble and stained scarlet with blood. </p><p> </p><p> Inside, he crumples to the ground, sobs wracking out of his torn mouth, agony streaming down his face in rivulets of tears.</p><p> Outside, Taeyong remains frozen in place, one arm stretched out, fingers reaching towards the liquid gold high in the sky. Outside, he closes his eyes for a fleeting moment — a moment, or maybe more. Images fading away behind closed eyelids as he slowly brings his arm down, feet aligning on the marbled floor that has seen too much, felt too much.</p><p> The arch of his form is broken to give way to the seasoned pin-straight posture, hand moving slowly and purposefully, the remnants of the tune vanishing in its descent. The contrast from just a few moments prior is glaringly obvious in the now lifeless room, a trance broken.</p><p> Inside, Taeyong tears the palace walls down, rips everything that makes him who he is apart, rips them to shreds, and then wonders if things would be different in another life. Inside, he sits at the edge of the waterfall, knees digging into blood stained rocks, watching droplet after droplet of blood dissolve into swirling patterns in the abundance of water. As if it were never there to begin with. Disappearing, fading, a memory only to be remembered by him.   </p><p> Outside, Prince Taeyong blinks and then opens his eyes back up; a new person. </p><p> A freshly woven shroud falls over the soot covered burnt memories. The ceaseless spark lingers, and so the flames shall grow back.</p><p> Inside, the porcelain shatters irreparably.</p><p> Outside, Taeyong glues the shattered shards back together, time and time again, knowing that the form will hold no longer than it had aforetime.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>to my recipient, i hope you enjoy all the emotions i experienced while writing this to the fullest extent 💕 happy new year 💕</p><p>to all the readers,<br/>there is an air of vagueness around some parts in this, so if you have any questions please do not hesitate to ask me in the comments!! i'd love to answer them 💕 I've grown attached to this universe and id love to share some of the other details that didn't quite make the cut for the final version 💕💕</p><p>Prompt: Soulmate AU where the last thing you'll say to your soulmate is engraved on their wrist,   Person A has Person B's name on his wrist.</p><p>as always, comment/kudos to let me know if you enjoyed reading this!</p><p>happy new year everyone 💕 i wish you health and happiness for 2021 💕💕</p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/noceurtiniti/status/1348071693173055491?s=20">moodboard /fic graphics!</a> </p><p>find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/noceurtiniti">twitter</a>        <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/noceurtiniti">cc</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>